


Yours

by Alliterative_Albatross



Series: Better Love [3]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: (they don't know that yet), Blow Jobs, Christmas Party, Co-workers, Dirty Talk, Dominant Bottom, Eventual Smut, F/M, Face-Fucking, I'll update these later, Idiots in Love, Injury Recovery, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Plotty, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Public Blow Jobs, Rough Oral Sex, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:48:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross
Summary: “Hush, Peña, or I’ll gag you with your fucking tie.”Javi takes you to a work party. Reluctantly.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Series: Better Love [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073882
Comments: 38
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

You sigh for the umpteenth time, rising from the sofa to pick once again through the bookshelf at the front entry, as if by some miracle, you’ll find something new this time. 

“Bored?” 

Shit. You hadn’t meant to disturb Javi’s nap - lord knows he doesn’t get near enough downtime as it is.

He doesn’t sound annoyed, though. 

“Profoundly,” you answer, darting your gaze back to take him in. Javi hasn’t moved a muscle in the past half hour, curled on the sofa like a cat, long legs splayed haphazardly over its arm. His head had been butted up against your thigh, his eyes shut, breaths even and deep. You’d been stroking little circles through the soft down of curls behind his left ear. 

He still hasn’t budged, even now giving zero indication that he’s awake, but his voice is far too alert to have been disturbed from sleep. 

It occurs to you that maybe he hadn’t been napping after all.

It’s been two days since he’d brought you home from the hospital, and you’re going stir-crazy from being confined to the apartment. Your doctor had been adamant that you rest and heal up, so aside from a few deep breathing exercises for your lungs, there’s not much for you to do but sit and mope. 

You absolutely cannot wait to go back to work on Monday.

Yesterday had been miserable. Javi’d worked deep into the night, leaving you to twiddle your thumbs until he’d crawled into bed with you in the predawn morning. Relieved, you’d curled against him, not giving a shit that he’d roused you wide awake or that his toes had felt like blocks of ice against your bare skin. You’d gladly choose shivering together over burrowing beneath his blankets alone.

You’d both had a lie-in this morning, only stirring when your stupid bladder had refused to be patient even a moment longer. You’d slipped back into bed, eager to bask Javi’s body heat, and he’d curled into you with a sleepy groan, nuzzling into your neck and peppering your skin with lazy, open-mouthed kisses, his erection digging promising and insistent into your hip bone.

Then, to your everlasting bewilderment, Javi had sighed, pulled away, and stumbled to the bathroom for a long, long shower. 

You’d rolled on your back, frustrated damn near to tears, and brought yourself to unsatisfying completion with your fingers, wondering all the while if maybe Javi just isn’t a morning guy. 

You’d thought for sure…

The doorbell buzzes, drawing you from your musings, and you’re off like a shot, eager for a little social interaction, even if that interaction does come in the form of Steve Murphy. 

Behind you, Javi hauls himself up from the sofa with a groan. 

“Hi,” you say as you swing the door open. It’s far more enthusiasm than Murphy’s ever had directed at him from you, and he blinks stupidly in the doorway for about half a second. 

You’re not looking at him, though. “Connie!” you exclaim instead. You hadn’t realized that she was visiting. 

“Hi!” Connie’s smile is warm and welcoming, despite the fact that she probably doesn’t remember you at all. You’d only been in Colombia for about a week when she’d left to return to the States. 

Javi’s caught up to you now, butting up against your shoulder and offering Connie a sharp nod. “Here for the transcript?” he directs at Steve.

Rude, you think fondly. 

Connie glances up at Steve with a clear question in her eyes. 

“Oh!” Steve clicks his tongue, his gaze darting awkwardly between you. “You remember Ears, right, honey?” One hand comes to scratch nervously at the back of his head. “She’s Javi’s -” Steve cuts himself off abruptly, obviously afraid he’s already said too much. 

You decide to help him out. “I’m Javi’s,” you interject smoothly, dodging the awkward label conversation that the two of you can never seem to get around to having and simultaneously leaving no room for interpretation. Connie allows you to grip her hand in a firm shake. “Good to see you again.”

Steve relaxes visibly, shooting you a pathetic glance of gratitude. In the same breath, Javi shifts just a little closer. His expression doesn’t change, and he doesn’t look at you, but his arm snakes around your body, his hand settling warm and firm at the small of your back. You get the idea that he’s pleased by your answer. 

Good.

The awkwardness quickly dissipates as the Murphy’s are ushered inside. Steve and Javi make a beeline toward the living area, already focused on their work-related bullshit with the single minded intensity that men so casually employ. 

You lead Connie into the kitchen, automatically reaching for the good crystal to pour her a drink. She accepts with a smile. “So, will I see you and Javier at the party?”

“Party?” You cut your eyes sharply toward the guys. Even from this distance, you can see the muscles in Javi’s back tense.

Ah, so he’s been holding out on you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you worked at the embassy,” Connie tucks her hair behind her ears, clearly embarrassed.

You shrug, indicating that it’s no big deal. “Oh, I do. I’ve just been off the radar for a while. I’m technically on medical leave right now.” You hold up your glass of water, shaking it ruefully. 

“Oh, right.” Connie tilts her head, eying you up and down, and you remember suddenly that she’s a nurse. Her eyes widen as some memory clicks into place. “Steve mentioned the bombing. Are you alright now?”

You tell her an abbreviated version of the story, shedding most of the gory details, and Connie hums sympathetically in all the appropriate places, looking you over with kind, assessing eyes. You’ve just gotten to your discharge, the story winding down, when Connie sets her drink on the counter with shaking fingers, looking at you with quiet intensity. 

“Ears,” Connie says intently. Her eyes flicker quickly toward the sofa, landing briefly on her oblivious husband before they focus back on you. “Was there any connection to your work?” she asks hesitantly, almost as if she’s afraid of the answer.

Sympathy swamps you in a sudden flood. You read what she’s not saying. Connie is afraid, desperately afraid, for Steve’s life. 

And what wife wouldn’t be? You realize that you’d judged her harshly for abandoning Steve in Colombia, never once bothering to consider things from her point of view.

Now, you find that you understand her far better than you’d assumed. 

She’d given up a thriving career in order to support her husband’s, had sold all of her belongings and moved to a new country, eager to start a new chapter of their lives together. From the comforts of Miami, chasing down a notorious drug lord in the jungles of South America sounds noble, a wild, romantic adventure, the kind of story you tell to the grandkids around the fireside.

Reality of life in Colombia is a brutal slap in the face. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Connie earns suspicious stares, instead of the instant friendships she’d been accustomed to in the States. Spanish that had seemed simple and intuitive in the DEA prep classes hits much differently in the marketplaces of Bogotá. There’s nothing romantic about falling asleep to incessant rounds of gunfire rattling the too-thin panes of your bedroom window, nothing adventurous about being stuck in an apartment and wondering if today is the day that your husband returns home to you in a body bag.

It’s clear after spending five minutes with Connie Murphy that she loves Steve deeply. All you need to see is the softness in her eyes when she looks at him. 

Of course she’d left. There’s nothing worse than waiting around for the inevitable, after all.

“None,” you tell her fiercely, reaching across the bar to grip her hands tightly. You wonder briefly if that’s too much, too awkward for this brand new friendship that you’re just now forging, but Connie leans into your touch gratefully, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “My flat was located above a drug store, one that just happened to be part of a chain owned by a rival of Escobar’s.“ It’s more information than you should really be offering to a layperson, but you don’t give a shit about that right now. Connie needs to know that she has nothing to fear beyond the typical - considerable - dangers that the average DEA agent faces in Colombia. “It was a freak accident, nothing more.”

Connie’s eyes flutter shut in obvious relief. You decide you can’t blame her for that, either. 

“My god, Ears,” she whispers. Connie tightens her grip on your hand in genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” you answer with a wry smile. 

The smile that Connie returns is just as small, just as sad, and in that moment, something passes between you, some shared awareness of life as a woman on the fringes of the hunt for Escobar. 

Your throat tightens painfully, and you force your thoughts away from Javi, suddenly desperate to brighten the mood. “Now, tell me about this party,” you grin conspiratorially. “I think it must have slipped Peña’s mind.”

From the living area, you hear Javi huff a sigh. So much for that single minded determination of men - Javier Peña notices everything. As annoying as it is, you can’t help but think that it’s damn sexy, how observant he is.

“It’s just a little Christmas celebration for the embassy employees and their families,” Connie explains. “You’ll come, won’t you?” Her eyes are alight with something like hope, and you get the impression that she’s just dying to make a friend here, another woman, somebody who understands. 

Normally, you wouldn’t be remotely interested in a work party, but you’ve been absolutely dying of boredom for the past two days - longer than that, even, if you count your time in the hospital - and Connie seems pretty cool. 

“I’d love to,” you say quickly, a vindictive part of you reveling in Javi’s little groan. Serves him right for holding out on you. You shoot him a pointed, ‘quit your bitching’ look as Steve sidles up behind Connie and squeezes her shoulders, planting a gentle kiss in her hair.

Connie’s still watching you eagerly, leaning forward in poorly contained anticipation.

You decide instantly that you like that about Connie. She’s easy to read, has nothing to hide. 

“It’s just that,” you wince apologetically, fluttering your hands in your lap. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

It’s true. All of your clothes had gone up spectacularly in flames. Really, you’ve got to hand it to Pablo - he’s certainly got a flare for drama. Javi’d been sweet enough to buy you a few things while you were in the hospital, but you don’t have anything remotely appropriate for a Christmas party. 

Connie’s eyes sparkle. “Come on,” she says, dragging you toward the front door. “I’ve got something for you.” 

Well, then. Problem solved. 

You shoot Javi an exaggerated wink over your shoulder, laughing out loud when he rolls his eyes in exasperation. 

* * *

“Well,” Connie laughs as she spins you in front of the full length mirror. “It’s certainly a look.”

You snort. She’s not wrong. Connie’s dress is a little black velvet number with spaghetti straps. It flares ever so slightly at the waist, the hemline brushing soft and sensual just above your knees. Connie is a little broader than you in the shoulders, so she’d paired it with one of her baggy denim jackets to hide the fact that the skinny little straps just refuse stay in place. Secretly, you’re grateful, even if it does look a little goofy - Bogotá is chilly, even in December. Sleeves are a mercy against the cool night air.

Connie’d decided to dress you up with a strand of her pearls, an embellishment that you’d protested vehemently. You have to admit, though, that they do sit nicely against the hollow of your throat, offsetting the fact that the only shoes you currently own are a pair of ratty black converse. 

Connie’s shoes are hopelessly too big for you. 

“Oh, come on,” Connie shoots a pointed grin toward you in the mirror, running her hands appreciatively down the velvet encased curve of your hips. “It’s actually pretty hot.”

You tilt your head, assessing. “Maybe,” you admit, catching your wild hair at the crown of your head and letting it fall back against your shoulders. “If we’re shooting for grunge.”

Connie laughs. “Exactly. Upscale grunge. I like it.”

You shake your head. “I guess.” This party is your first shot at freedom in nearly two weeks, and this is all there is to work with. It’ll have to do. “Thanks, Connie.”

It had been kind of nice, having some girl talk. Girlfriends are not a luxury that you commonly indulge in - you much prefer the company of guys, always have - but Connie is easygoing and kind, and seems to genuinely like you. You share a love for Tupac and motorcycles - Connie actually has her own back in Miami. She’d shown you a polaroid, a big red Chief with sexy tan fringe, Connie driving with her braided hair flying behind her, Steve waving from his position riding bitch. It had earned them both instant cool points in your mind. 

You fiddle again with your hair, gathering it at the nape of your neck, turning sideways in the mirror, wondering if maybe the sheen of the velvet accentuates the curve of your ass just a little too much.

You’ll definitely make a statement. 

Connie places her hands on your shoulders, twisting you to face her gently. “Leave it,” she reminds you, pulling your hands away. “You’ll crush those curls.” She stares at you, biting her bottom lip in a way that’s throughly adorable, and you think to yourself that Steve Murphy is a lucky son of a bitch to have snagged a woman like her.

“I think you need a red lip,” she announces after a moment of consideration.

Your frown again at your reflection, attempting to conjure the image in your mind. Aren’t most lips sort of red anyway? You’re not much use with makeup. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Connie answers with absolute confidence, already digging through a bag that is hopelessly too big to contain just lipstick. You settle in, resigning yourself to a full face makeover with a little huff of amusement. “You’ve got those pouty lips,” Connie informs you from deep within the makeup bag. She comes earth-side, either for air or because she’s found what she’d been hunting for, you’re not sure. “Javi’s gonna come unglued for that, trust me.”

You snort at the thought. Javi’s never seen you in makeup, not once, and he’s definitely not the type to ‘come unglued.’ 

Connie picks up on your doubt. “You don’t think so?” she asks, turning over your wrist and swiping you with three shades of the same fucking color. 

It’s all red.

“Not sure,” you answer, biting back a smirk at the redundancy. You won’t ruin Connie’s fun, especially not if there’s a chance of catching Javi’s attention at the end of it all. “It’s still pretty new.”

“Oh?” Connie catches your eye, her expression pure, delighted filth. “So, you mean it’s still fun?”

You wink at her, pushing aside all doubt at how distant Javi had been this morning. “Very fun.” You drop your voice for emphasis. 

“Hmm,” Connie nods, her eyes lighting up. She taps your wrist, indicating the deepest of the shades. “This one, then. It just screams ‘wild, wanton bitch.’”

“Yup, that’s the one,” you agree emphatically. Maybe there’s some benefit to this makeup thing after all.

* * *

You cross the hallway, letting yourself back into Javi’s apartment with your key, still a little awestruck by that fact that you have _your own key_ to _Peña’s apartment._

Javi’s in the bathroom, leaned lopsided against the sink, working his tie around his neck with a concentrated little scowl on his face. “Ears,” he starts, glaring daggers into the mirror. He cuts himself off as he gets a look at you. 

You can appreciate the sentiment. Javier Peña is dressed to the nines in dark blue slacks that are tailored perfectly to his body. He’s wearing a shiny, wine colored button up that’s sinfully tight, broadcasting his broad shoulders and tapered waist. His skinny silk tie dangles haphazardly from his collar where he’d given up on it, and his eyes are all dark desire as he takes you in. 

You eye him up and down, gaze lingering on his ass and shoulders. You’re glad he’d picked the dark suit - the tan one that he seems to prefer is hopelessly too big for him. A damn shame, really.

He’s still staring at you open-mouthed. 

“Is it the hair?” you ask coyly. It’s rare that you wear it down. You smirk in his direction, taking half a step forward, waggling your eyebrows. “Or the red lip?”

“It’s the whole package,” Javi says lowly, meeting you in the middle with long, quick strides. “Goddamn, baby,” he says as he presses his body into you. His hands go straight to your ass, his lips straight to your mouth. 

You kiss him twice, softly, letting your tongue linger beneath his bottom lip for just a second before you pull away. “Nuh-uh,” you chide, leaning back from him so that his hips are pressed into your belly. Already you can feel his cock twitch with interest as he palms the soft velvet against your thighs. “Don’t you dare mess up this pretty face. It took Connie ages.”

Javi gazes down at you like he’d like to do just that. 

“Party first,” you remind him sweetly. 

Javi rolls his eyes and tears himself away from you. “I don’t do parties,” he damn near whines. 

Liar, you think sharply enough that Javi surely hears the thought. You meet his gaze for good measure, and he narrows his eyes at you. 

“No?” you ask archly, reaching up to finger the edges of his collar. It’s rare, seeing him all buttoned up like this. It takes all of your effort to leave him intact. “You sure?”

Javi eyeballs you with an intense, possessive expression that threatens to send a shiver of desire darting down your spine, and you wonder where the hell all of this sexual tension was this morning. If he keeps looking at you like that, you’ll never even make it down the stairs, much less to the embassy.

Maybe that’s his angle.

You decide to play to his sympathies. Despite all of his bluster, Javier Peña really is a sucker where it counts. “Just for a little while, Javi,” you promise, fluttering lashes that feel too-heavy, caked with mascara and god knows what else. “It’s been the worst week.”

Javi snorts. “Yeah, and this’ll make it better,” he mutters darkly. His eyes cut away, landing somewhere at the base of the bathtub. His entire body is tense, drawn away from you so imperceptibly that the difference is almost impossible to read. 

“Hey,” you say, suddenly concerned. You reach for his face, drawing a finger against the smooth skin of his jaw. He’s shaved.

“Ears,” Javi breathes. All of the fight seems to drain from him, and he rests his forehead against yours with a gentle sigh. Both hands come up to graze gently against your ribs. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Oh. The realization clicks painfully into place, and suddenly, you feel like a fool for not seeing it before. 

Javi is worried for you. 

Of course, he hasn’t said as much, both out of respect of your independent nature and because admitting it aloud displays a vulnerability that he desperately doesn’t want you to see. 

But that bomb had fucked him up far more than it had you. Javi had never shared any details beyond what he’d told you the first day, that he’d gone to your apartment to look for you, that he’d seen body bags, but it’s obvious that the memory haunts him. He shies away from every mention of it - even dragging out the details of the connection between Emilio and Cali had been like pulling teeth - each reminder spiraling him into a distant, sullen mood that takes you ages to shake him out of. 

You’re pretty sure you’d even caught him dreaming about it. On your first night in his bed, you’d woken to hear Javi moaning your name in his sleep. Automatically, you’d curled around him, pressing your chest to his back and your lips to his ear. He’d stiffened, almost as if you’d startled him awake, but then, slowly, the tension had bled from him, his breaths leveling as he’d relaxed into your touch. Neither of you had spoken, and in the morning, everything was normal, as if it had never happened. 

Now, that memory puts everything into perspective. The tight a leash he’s kept on you, insisting you practice your breathing exercises, calling you in the middle of the day to check up on you, pulling away this morning instead of fucking you silly into the mattress when you’d both been aching for release. 

Javi _does_ want you. Desperately, probably.

He’s just concerned about your health. 

You take him in, all slicked back hair and dark lashes splashed against tanned cheeks, his lips soft and plaint against your forehead, warm and sexy and imminently fuckable. 

A vision of the evening unfolds stark and tantalizing in your mind. 

_Showing this man off, being escorted at his elbow, buying him a drink, maybe even challenging him to a slow dance in front of his peers. Later, bringing him back home, shoving him against the headboard, proving to him for once and all that you aren’t a delicate little flower to be protected._

You’re going to have to address that issue, and soon.

“Fucking certain,” you answer firmly, reaching to do up his tie with an easy confidence that comes from years of living with your father and brothers. It’s muscle memory for you, and you keep your gaze locked on Javi’s the entire time your fingers are knotting the silk at his throat. “I’m beyond ready to get out of this apartment.”

Javi sighs, half apology, half frustration. “Baby,” he says softly, resting a warm hand on your shoulder and looking at you with dark, anxious eyes. 

You’re reminded again of just how awful the last two weeks have been for him, worrying for you, rushing you to the hospital when you’d started coughing up blood on his kitchen floor, taking care of you when you hand’t been able to care for yourself. 

You wince at the implications. No wonder he’s afraid you’ll break.

“I’ll be okay, babe,” you tell him softly, reaching up to cradle your palm over his ear. Javi seems to like that, because his eyes flutter closed, and he breathes a soft sigh. “I won’t even drink, if it makes you feel better.” 

Javi shakes his head into your hand, and you fight the urge to reach up on your tiptoes and take those pouting lips into your mouth. 

“Come on,” you say instead. “It’s getting late. Connie and Steve left ten minutes ago.”

Javi snorts, unimpressed. 

“Seriously, sweetheart,” you say, shooting for your typical brand of sarcastic banter. The only way to convince him that you’re totally fine is to act the part. “I’m bored fucking stiff, just sitting here.” 

It’s not a lie, either. 

You thread Javi’s fingers through yours, tugging him toward the door. “Who knows, you might even have fun.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Javi mutters, but his gaze is a tangible weight on your back as you lead him down the stairs to the car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life Connie Murphy did have a bike. She even did her own mechanic work. Really, I feel that she is one of the few characters that the show did a disservice to. I understand wanting to create tension, but Connie and Steve had a rock solid marriage, and she was a badass babe. Definitely the kind of woman I would want my daughter to aspire to be, and a missed opportunity in regards to writing. I wanted to redeem her just a little here, while also keeping her in character as far as canon is concerned.
> 
> Up next: pining and plot, at a party!


	2. Chapter 2

The party is boring as fuck. Everywhere you look, clusters of unapproachable people are dressed in expensive, dark colored clothes and shoes that pinch, nibbling hors d'oeuvres severed by starched waiters, engaging in hushed conversation over beautifully frosted glasses of high shelf liquor. 

Suddenly, you’re beyond grateful that you had no choice but to wear your chucks this evening. 

You’re universally greeted with wide-eyed stares and second glances. Apparently your story had circulated through the embassy with the lightning speed that only a juicy bit of office gossip can, and a few people come up to you to offer their condolences and not-so-subtly pump you for information. Javi fields them off a touch too aggressively, placing a firm hand on your shoulder and shutting down any prying questions with a snappish answer and a firm glare. Folks get the message pretty quickly, and it’s not long before two of you are left alone, just standing awkwardly at the edge of the hallway. 

You bite back a heavy sigh. It’s not that you want to revel in your newfound celebrity, but the entire point of dolling up for this stupid party was to get out of the house and see people. Besides, you think a little resentfully, you’re perfectly capable of steering conversion away from topics that you’re reluctant to discuss. 

“Some party,” Javi complains darkly, threading his fingers tightly through yours and scanning suspicious eyes over the crowd, as if threats could arise at any minute. 

Watching him in the orange-ish glow of the lamplit hallway, you’re reminded again how uncomfortable this must be for him, escorting you around at his elbow, reliving the bombing over and over, displaying your new relationship for prying eyes to see and speculate. Javi is a private man, especially with matters of the heart, and all of this schmoozing and polite conversation isn’t his element, not by a long shot. You can tell that he’s feeling uprooted and exposed by all of the attention. 

Honestly, so are you.

“Why don’t you go grab a drink?” you suggest, subtly pinching his ass when nobody is looking. Javi glances down at you, his gaze burning. “You look like you could use it.”

“You’ll be here?” he asks, once again brushing his hand over the velvet at your hip. 

“Scout’s honor,” you answer through gritted teeth. There’s something obnoxious and also incredibly sexy about how ridiculously possessive and tactile Javi’s being right now, and it’s driving you wild. 

He ducks away, weaving efficiently through the crowd on his way to the bar, and you take the opportunity to search out the bathroom. Before you can make it there, though, you stumble chest to chest with Bill Stechner. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, reaching up to catch his drink before it can spill. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Ears!” Stechner smiles widely as your fingers graze over his glass. You pull away abruptly, knocking a dribble of whisky over its edge. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, but Stechner doesn’t seem bothered in the least.

“It’s good to see you out and about,” he says, beckoning you closer. You glance back toward the bar, confirming that Javi is at least two people deep in the drink line. 

Perfect. 

You really can’t justify blowing off your boss’ boss’ boss, and besides, Bill Stechner is a mystery you’ve had yet to solve. A mystery with an intriguing air of danger. You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie, and this is gearing up to be the most interesting conversation you’ve had in weeks. So you follow Stechner without question as he weaves you through a few faceless bodies, allowing him to eventually lead you to a dark corner of the room, opposite of the hallway where you’d been hiding out with Javi. 

“I hear that congratulations are in order,” he starts, leaning casually in the bare space between two ostentatious art pieces on the wall. He crosses his feet at the ankles and folds his arms across his belly, the very picture of careless grace, and you notice for the first time that he’s tieless, wearing a canvas jacket and khaki pants that nearly matches your denim and chucks in subtle rebellion. 

You find yourself immediately endeared, and that realization sends a spike of grim foreboding thrumming down your spine. You remind yourself to be very, very careful. 

“Apparently, you’re single handedly responsible for the arrest of a high level _sicario_.” Stechner continues, tilting his head in silent appreciation. “Strong work, sister.”

“There are lots of moving parts,” you answer, choosing each word deliberately. “I just gathered the initial intel.”

“Oh, don’t be modest.” Stechner smiles disarmingly, his expression completely incongruent with the piercing stare that you’re being pinned with. He is far, far more alert than any bigwig at a work Christmas party has any right to be. Something about the intent in his gaze awakens that familiar mix of intrigue and apprehension in your gut, and you’re reminded suddenly of a bird of prey, or maybe even a vulture, circling ever lower, eyeing a helpless meal with that same calculating, dead-eyed stare of inevitability. 

You meet him head on with a casual little shrug, dodging an inconveniently located Christmas tree to rest your hip against the wall, a small, distant part of you reveling in the heady feeling of playing with fire.

Stechner’s fingers tap, tap, tap against the glass in his hand. “Sucks about your apartment, though.” He winces a little in a show of sympathy. “Sorry to hear about that.”

“Sure does,” you answer, deciding to completely forego any formality with this man. He wouldn’t appreciate it, you know this from the few interactions you’ve had with him in the past. “Thank you, Bill.” 

Bill clicks his tongue in obvious amusement, and you can tell that he’s pleased that you have the balls to address him by name, regardless of the fact that he’d given you permission the first time you’d come to his office.

You assume most peons don’t take him up on that offer.

“It’s a bitch, isn’t it?” Bill sighs. He brings his glass to his lips and takes a long sip, glancing at you over its rim. “Being caught between the cartels and Los Pepes.” He licks his lips, pinning you with another sharp look. “Shit luck, if you ask me.”

You nod, raising your brows in acknowledgement. You couldn’t agree more.

“That’s the thing about wars, Ears. There’s always somebody caught in the middle.” You catch a subtle hint of resignation in Bill’s eyes. It’s the same grim, closed off expression that you see from Javi sometimes. This is a man who’s seen some terrible things. Things that have changed him. 

The mystery deepens. 

You file that tidbit away for later, knowing better than to contemplate it now. Instead, you reach for your own personal brand of levity and sarcasm, which Bill seems to respond well to. “All part of the intrigue of life in Colombia,” you joke with a wry grin.

“We can drink to that,” Bill smirks. He notices for the first time that you’re empty handed. “Well, shit, Ears,” he frowns, pushing himself off the wall and glancing toward the bar across the room. “What are you having?”

You shake your head. “I’ve got one coming.” You pointedly avoid looking toward the bar, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on Bill, offering him a smile that you hope is grateful. “Thanks, though.” 

Bill’s gaze darts across the room, instantly zeroing in on Javi, and you’re reminded again that this is a man who misses nothing. “Ah, your good friend, Mr. Peña.” A subtle smirk plays at his lips. “I should have guessed.”

And here it comes, the inevitable turn in the conversation that you’ve been dreading. In the wake of the bombing, Javi hasn’t exactly kept your new relationship under the radar, least of all with Stechner. You can’t blame him for it, given the circumstances, but all the same, that old uneasiness resurfaces, swamping you with all the dread and resignation of the years you’ve spent fighting tooth and nail for your career. You suddenly wish you had a drink in your had to brace yourself against.

At least you can admire Bill for coming straight to the issue. Something niggles in the back of your mind, an age-old instinct warning that befriending this man is akin to dancing with the devil, but you push it away. 

Bill’s not stupid.

“Javi’s been very kind to me,” you hedge, deliberately using his nickname. You’re telling Bill everything he needs to know without openly admitting to anything. 

“I’ll bet he has.” Bill shoots you a lascivious wink, and you bite back a deep sigh. Of course, there was no fooling this man. Bill Stechner doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about fraternization, or workplace ethics, or your sex life.

The relief you feel is staggering. 

Bill directs his attention toward the opposite side of the room, and you decide it’s safe to follow his gaze. Javi is next in line, hunched over the bar with both palms braced at its edges, eyeing the bartender with an intensity that borders on impatience. 

Desire coils thickly in your belly.

“He’s certainly an asset to Search Bloc.” Bill turns to once again pin you with an assessing stare, and you drag your attention away from Javi. “You will keep an eye on him for me, Ears?” he asks, leaning forward with the air of a man exposing a deeply concealed vulnerability. “I’d hate to think of any more of our best and brightest being caught in the crossfire. Two close calls are two too many.”

“Two close calls?” You wrack your brain, something swooping in your stomach, and come up empty. The last close call you’d heard of was that first failed mission to take Verdugo, that awful evening that Javi had come broken and shame-faced to your apartment, the last night you’d shared before things had fallen apart. 

Somehow, you know that Bill isn’t referencing that. “What are you not saying, Bill?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward. “Oh, my bad,” he says with an expression that doesn’t seem repentant in the least. “I didn’t realize you weren’t filled in.”

“Well,” you bite impatiently, finding yourself tempted to elbow him in the shoulder. You stop yourself just in time. Bill is your boss, not your friend. “Fill me in, then.”

Bill leans a little closer, rolling one shoulder off the wall to face you. “Can’t say I’m exactly privy to the entire story myself. Search Bloc is pretty tight lipped about it.”

You tap your foot, not giving a shit about the ever-present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA. Bill clearly knows something, and he’s dragging it out on purpose.

Bill angles closer, as if he’s imparting a great secret, and you find yourself echoing the gesture, your heads nearly brushing. “Word around the office is, there was a little run in between Search Bloc and Los Pepes not too long ago,” he says in a hushed whisper. “Both of them in the same place at the same time.”

Something cold coils in your gut. “And what does this have to do with Peña?”

Bill purses his lips, swirling his nearly empty glass lazily in his hand. “Apparently, Agent Peña stepped between a standoff. Talked down an entire swarm of the fuckers at gunpoint.” He takes one last swig of his drink, licking his lips a little as he peers at you over the rim. “Unarmed, if the rumors are true.” Bill nods toward the bar where Javi is waiting. “He’s quite the hero, your friend.”

You shut your eyes against the rush of images, Javier Peña pushing himself between the barrels of pistols with his hands raised, dressing down both sides with cool logic delivered alongside his trademark sarcasm. Your pulse boils in your ears, and you find yourself sick to your stomach. It’s a picture that you can conjure all too easily, and suddenly, you find yourself biting back against anger and indignation that flare painfully in your chest. 

‘Idiot, idiot, idiot,’ you think accusingly toward Javi’s exposed back. And he hadn’t even bothered to mention it to you.

But something’s nagging at you, a misgiving that has nothing to do with Javi needlessly inserting himself in the dead center of a volatile situation. 

It’s not adding up. 

You take a deep, bracing breath, blocking out the distractions of the party and Bill’s probing stare, searching frantically for incongruences. Your eyes snap open when you finally find it. “How come they were at the same place at the same time?”

Bill rears back, both brows raised. A ghost of an expression crosses his face for just an instant, something sharp and assessing, but then it’s gone, replaced with fabricated, wide-eyed shock. “Ears,” he stretches the syllable, cocking his head to the side like a puppy, and you get the impression that you’ve genuinely surprised him. “That is an excellent question.” 

“Are you telling me that there’s a leak in Search Bloc?” you ask point blank. Now that you’ve put it all together, the connection is obvious, and you don’t have the patience to engage in this superficial song and dance with Bill. It’s not a huge stretch of the imagination to assume that somebody has gotten restless with the ever-creeping pace of the hunt for Escobar. Hell, even Javi has expressed the same sentiment at times. CNP certainly has officers with plenty of reason to be getting antsy. If somebody is leaking information to a bunch of armed, bloodthirsty vigilantes, the type of information that could put Los Pepes in the same vicinity as Search Bloc…

It’s a recipe for a blood bath.

“I can’t confirm that or deny it, Ears,” Bill says softly, and the apology in his eyes seems genuine this time. “But I agree with your line of thinking. It certainly looks suspicious.”

And that tiny confirmation sends a bolt of fear lancing down your spine, fear like you’ve never known. Your apartment was a one-off, an inconvenience, but your instincts are screaming that there’s a bad cop in Search Bloc, sharing intel with these killers for hire, trying to hasten the game for their own ends. You think again of Javi, your precious idiot, out in the fray every day, so single-mindedly devoted to his job, being just the kind of boneheaded to take matters into his own hands, to gamble so carelessly with his life… 

“Fuck,” you’re hardly aware of saying it aloud. Your eyes skim over the crowd, landing on Javi, who is weaving his way through bar traffic. He’s got your drinks raised high over his head, his eyes sweeping over the empty corner where you’d promised to be waiting.

Heedless of Bill watching, you lift your hand, spreading your fingers in a tiny wave. Javi catches the motion, makes eye contact with you across the room. His entire body stiffens, and he shifts direction, angling straight toward you, something hard glittering in his eyes.

Oh, shit.

Bill seems to sense it, too. “Well, Ears, you didn’t hear anything from me,” he cautions, resuming his casual position sprawled back against the wall. “CYA, you know. The DEA isn’t too friendly about us CIA folks interfering in their private business.” He shrugs as if to say, ‘what can you do?’

Javi is at your side now, his presence crashing into your conversation with all of the subtly of an active grenade. 

“Peña,” Bill tips his head pleasantly in Javi’s direction, then angles to flag down a passing server, placing his empty glass on her plate. 

“Stechner.” Javi’s voice is strained, the syllables bitten off sharply. He brushes his shoulder against you, and you sense the full force of his tension leaking from his body in tangible waves.

The ambient temperature in the room seems to drop by several degrees.

“Bill, please,” There’s a subtle amusement infusing Bill’s expression, something dancing smugly in his eyes.

Javi nods tightly. He doesn’t speak.

Jesus Christ. You decide to diffuse the moment, reaching across Javi’s body to take your drink from his opposite hand. “I think this is mine,” you say lightly, leveling a gently teasing grin in Javi’s direction. 

Javi’s face remains expressionless, his only movement a slight flare of his nostrils. His eyes are locked on Bill’s.

Lord, you can damn near smell the testosterone in the air. 

“Kind of you to think of us,” Stechner smiles winningly, plucking the second drink straight from Javi’s fingers with a flourish. You’re half tempted to comment on his audacity, but there’s a glint in Bill’s eye that’s almost predatory, and again, you’re reminded of a vulture, circling ever lower against its lifeless prey. 

A muscle ticks in Javi’s jaw. 

You keep your mouth shut, just managing not to arch a brow. You can’t stop your eyes cutting in Bill’s direction, though.

Bill must read your discomfort, because he spreads his fingers disarmingly. “I think I’ll go find a quiet corner to ride out the rest of the night. I can feel the wandering eyes.” He grimaces, and you notice Messina damn near glaring him down from across the room. “Sometimes it’s best to be seen, and not _seen,_ if you catch my drift.”

“Definitely,” you answer a beat too late, once you realize that Javi isn’t going to respond. You try to ignore the way he stiffens as you speak. “I’ll see you Monday, sir!”

“Bill,” Bill corrects lazily over his shoulder. 

You breathe a deep sigh of relief, grateful that the interaction is over, just as Bill whirls on his heel. “Oh, and Ears,” he calls, pointing to you with the pinkie finger of the hand that grips his stolen drink. “I nearly forgot.”

You raise a brow in clear expectation. 

Bill shoots you a wolfish grin. “Swing by my office first thing on Monday.” He clicks his tongue at you, his face folding in an expression that is nearly, but not quite a wink. “We need to have a little chat about that housing stipend.”

Your heart speeds in your chest, and you swallow dryly. “Sure thing.” 

Beside you, Javi’s hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing you in a grip that’s damned near painful. 

“Perfect.” Bill nods politely, still leveling his finger toward you and Javi. The glance that darts between you drips with suggestion. “Have a good evening, you two.” And with that, Bill Stechner disappears into the crowd, as effortless as if he’d never been standing in front of you at all. 

You shut your eyes for half a second, willing him to be truly gone, willing your racing heart to slow.

Javi whirls on you. “What was that?” he hisses beneath his breath. His eyes are sparking dangerously.

“What was what?” you ask, taken aback by the heat in his tone. It’s almost accusatory. 

Javi throws his hands in the air, waving toward the space that Stechner had occupied only seconds ago. “Fucking… _that!”_ He’s so upset that better words seem to escape him. 

You furrow your brow. “You mean with Stechner?”

Javi’s lips press into a thin line. A muscle ticks in his jaw. 

You take this as confirmation. “We were just talking,” you explain awkwardly, suddenly at a loss. “About the bomb, mostly. He was offering his condolences.” 

You decide leave out the bit about Los Pepes. There’s still so much that you don’t know, so much that you need to process, and Javi is obviously not up for answering your questions right now, anyway. 

“I don’t like it.” Javi’s face is a dark scowl.

“God, Javi, what do you like?” you tease gently, working to modulate the tiny bit of frustration that’s leaked its way into your tone.

Tonight, it’s a valid question. 

“I don’t like him,” Javi answers lowly, glaring into the crowd as if he can still see Bill Stechner’s retreating back. 

Damn, he’s not going to let go of that bad mood.

“Javi, hey,” you reach for his hand, braiding your fingers together and squeezing reassurance. Javi’s gaze twitches down toward you, just briefly, and you take this as encouragement. “I don’t trust him either,” you admit, shoving your shoulder against his, more candid than you really want to be in this environment. “But he’s my boss.” You squirm, recalling your openness with Bill just moments ago. 

“Cavanaugh’s your boss,” Javi protests. His fingers clench into fists, the one hand clutching your knuckles just a hair too tight for comfort.

“Right,” you answer patiently, biting back a wince. You remind yourself of all the reasons that Javi has to be tense right now. Petty jealousy is the least of them. Probably. “And Stechner is his.”

“He called you Ears.” Javi’s eyes fall to his shoes, his voice petulant like a little boy’s. His brow is furrowed in that familiar expression of deep thought that tempts you to kiss his concerns away. “Since when does he call you that?” 

You blink, casting your thoughts back on the conversation. “I don’t know,” you answer slowly. It had seemed so natural that you hadn’t even questioned it. You wonder if this is because you haven’t heard your given name in months, or if it’s more of Stechner’s personal brand of charm, disarming you, muddying the lines between boss and confidant. 

Maybe you’d given up more information than you should.

You shake the question away, glancing up at Javi with a wry smile. “You know how he is, Javi.” You manage a passable impression, cutting your eyes, deepening your voice, holding your drink to your chest with your pinkie extended with as much swagger as is humanly possible. _“Bill, please.”_

Javi is not amused. His free fingers tap agitatedly against his thigh, his lips pressed in an ominous line beneath his dark mustache. 

You swallow back frustration, again trying to put yourself in his shoes. Javi’s nearly impossible to deal with when he’s like this. “Don’t stress over it, baby,” you cajole, infusing all of the patience you have into your tone. You wiggle your threaded fingers, drawing attention to where you are connected and hoping that he can find some reassurance in your presence, if not your words. “A day at a time, remember?”

Javi works his jaw, looking very much like he’d rather not remember. His eyes cut across the crowd, glazed and distant. 

Dammit, you lost him. 

“Here.” You offer him your drink. Javi looks very much like he could use one, despite that he’s not a fan of gin.

Javi huffs down at it, but there’s something gentle in the gesture, a fondness that hadn’t been there before. He shakes his head, a tiny uptick playing at his lips. 

You shrug and take another sip, sighing at the taste. It’s perfect, spicy and sharp, qualities that would absolutely be wasted on Javi. The whiskey that he prefers is the exact opposite - smoky, thick, subtly sweet and thoroughly disgusting.

God, he looks miserable, and suddenly you feel incredibly guilty for dragging him here. Honestly, you’d have both been better off if you’d just asked him to take you to Mr. Ribs for a beer. You wonder for a moment if you should suggest it, but something at the back of your mind is reluctant to accept defeat so readily - you’ve barely been here 30 minutes, and you’re determined to make the best of it. 

You’ve always been stubborn.

“Come on, Peña,” you scan the crowd, pinpointing Connie and Steve easily - the only pair of blondes in the entire building. “Let’s go harass Murphy.”

Javi nods tightly, allowing you to lead him through the masses. 

“Agent Peña!” a voice calls somewhere to your left, and Javi stiffens, biting back a groan that you can damn near feel in your bones as his fingers disentwine from yours. 

You glance up. Holy fuck, that’s the U.S. Ambassador flagging him down, waving at Javi as if he hadn’t just been headed in the complete opposite direction. 

Javi brushes your far shoulder regretfully, and you bump your hip against his in a subtle nudge forward. “Go,” you order beneath your breath. 

Javi sighs deeply, but he goes, catching the velvet at your thigh with one last casual sweep of his fingers.

You bite back a shudder at his feather-light touch. 

You hang back for a bit, watching from the corner of your eye as Javier Peña rubs shoulders with the elite of Colombia, and again, you feel that pang of shame zinging around beneath your breastbone. Of course he hadn’t wanted to come tonight. You hadn’t quite realized what you’d been asking of him when you’d persuaded him from the comfort of his apartment. Caught up in your own shit, just like always.

Again, you consider Mr. Ribs and its ice-cold bottles of cheap beer, of Javi’s apartment and the gigantic bed that you share there. A thousand different scenarios unfold in your mind, each one steamier than the last.

You shake them off. You’ve known from the jump that one of the downsides to Javier Peña is his mercurial moods. Refusing to allow your thoughts to drag you down, you circulate the room, nursing your drink until you’re pleasantly relaxed. You keep Javi at the edge of your gaze the entire time, deciding that this is a prime opportunity to observe him unobstructed. 

You’re impressed by what you see.

By the time you make your way to Steve Murphy, he’s meandered to his own dark corner. A little ways off, Connie is chatting animatedly with Messina, a wide smile plastered on her face. Waylaid on her way to the bar, you assume. 

You sidle up beside Steve just as he takes a deep drink from the glass he’s holding. Neither of you speak. Steve seems tense, too, his arms folded across his chest, his expression all stony resentment as he stares into the middle distance.

Jesus, it must be going around tonight. 

Steve swirls his drink around in absent contemplation. You’re just close enough to hear the single ice cube _clink, clink, clink_ softly at the edges of the glass.

It’s a lonely sound.

You find your eyes again drawn to Javi. The little group he’s talking with has swollen, a cluster of five or so instead of just two. He shifts his weight, angling himself in a way that simultaneously gives away his discomfort and also displays the curve of his ass in those tight cut trousers. Long fingers come to graze at his throat, tugging subtly at his tie. 

Christ, you want him so bad it aches.

“Jesus, Ears, could you be any more subtle?” Steve’s voice cuts the silence, laced with the same poisonous edge of resentment that had led you to despise him in the first place. 

Annoyed, you glance up to find Steve leering down you. But there’s something broken behind his eyes, and somehow, you find that it’s impossible to drum up the familiar disdain that had defined your interactions before. 

“Been watching you eyefuck him across the room for ten minutes now,” Steve continues, nodding pointedly in Javi’s direction. “It’s fucking gross.”

For the first time, you recognize his biting tone as teasing, with just a hint of jealousy simmering beneath the surface. 

Unbidden, sympathy rises in you.

“Could you be any less sloshed?” you counter, only half-joking. “Let me have that one.” Heedless of decorum, you swipe the half-empty drink from Steve’s open hand, simultaneously reaching back to deposit your own glass on a conveniently located console table. 

Steve pouts a little, but there’s no heat in his expression, and you find yourself wondering at your concern for him. Since when have you given a shit about Steve Murphy and his coping mechanisms?

Brushing aside that suspicious thought, you raise his glass to your nose and swirl it, sniffing. 

Ugh, tequila.

Steve’s staring down at you with something that borders on fondness. He shakes his head, a wry little smile tugging at his lips. “I hope you talk to him like that,” he says, dipping his head toward Javi’s gaggle of admirers. “The motherfucker.”

“Javi gives as good as he gets, Murphy. Trust me.”

“I know,” he replies with a smirk. “Asshole.” 

Your lips twitch in return, and you know that your expression is a little too soft. You can’t disagree, though - Javier Peña is definitely an asshole.

He’s also a good man.

“I’m glad you guys got your shit straight,” Steve announces with all of the stark honesty that comes from being just a little too inebriated. You must not have missed the mark, then, with your comment from earlier. He struggles, twitching his fingers as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that they’re empty. “He was driving me up the fucking wall, moping over you.”

“Thanks, Murph,” you snort, deciding to take the Steve Murphy seal of approval as the sort-of compliment that it is. “So am I.” 

Steve’s expression sobers, and together, you find your eyes tracking toward Connie, who is still pinned by Messina. 

“She’s going to leave soon.” Steve’s voice is soft, regretful. A confession. 

“She’s a hell of a woman, Steve.” Truly, you’d been impressed by Connie. 

“Yeah.” Steve looks very, very sad. 

Suddenly, your heart aches for him. You recognize that expression. You remember wearing it yourself during the month that you and Javi hadn’t spoken. It brings back a flood of painful memories - wondering again and again where exactly it had all gone wrong, uncertain of how to fix things or if you should even try, drowning in the helplessness of not knowing how to span the impossible gulf between you. 

You draw a deep, bracing breath. How much worse would it be, grappling these questions in regards to your wife, instead of just your fuck buddy?

Beside you, Steve blusters a heavy sigh, and you realize that your thoughts are probably more in tune than they’ve ever been. 

“You know, she was excited about the children’s choir,” you interject suddenly, remembering how Connie’s eyes had lit up as she’d explained that they would be performing during the evening.

Steve glances toward you, a small frown on his face. “Children’s choir?” 

You struggle against the urge to roll your eyes. Connie clearly hadn’t mentioned the performance to him. Something like frustration or maybe even grief wells in you. Steve and Connie Murphy are two amazing people. Things should be so easy for them. Steve would move mountains for Connie, and Connie loves Steve with all her heart. 

So what gives?

Like a damned magnet, your thoughts turn back to Javi. A cool prickle of shame bites beneath your skin. Hypocrite. You’re discovering more parallels between the Murphy’s relationship and your own than you’d really like to see, and it makes you uncomfortable about the future. 

“Yeah,” you manage against the lump in your throat. You swallow it down with a splash of tequila, managing not to shudder at the taste. Tequila brings back too many memories to be enjoyed. “I think they’re setting up near the main stairwell.’ You point with your elbow, where a swarm of dark headed kids dressed in white and red robes are weaving their way around the edge of the room. 

Again, you glance at Connie. The expression on her face is pure, polite interest, but even in your brief time with her, you think you might know Connie Murphy well enough to recognize that she naturally exudes unbridled enthusiasm, the kind that lights up her eyes and sends her voice into a higher pitch than its natural alto.

You notice now that that spark is extinguished. “Go on, Steve,” you urge, nudging him a little toward Connie. “She looks like she could use a rescue.” 

Steve takes half a step forward, then hesitates, turning back to you with something like apprehension in his eyes. 

You grip his bicep tightly. Steve’s a full three heads or so taller than you, so you’re forced to tug at him awkwardly until his eyes drop to yours. “That’s your wife,” you say forcefully, ignoring the overwhelming urge to poke Steve in the chest, or slap some sense into him. “She’s a badass lady, and she loves you.” You blink, grimacing at the words that are spilling from you far too easily. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink, too. “Murphy, she loves you so much that it fucking hurts her, okay? I can just see it shining out her eyes when she looks at you. You’re a fucking idiot if you can’t.”

Steve is staring at Connie like a drowning man stares at a life vest, a pure, naked longing etched on his face that tugs at something deep in you. You find that all of your beef with him is suddenly water under the bridge. 

You want them to make it. You need for them to make it.

“You think?” Steve breathes, unfettered hope damn near gleaming from eyes that are a little too glossy, even in the dusky lamplight.

“I know, you absolute moron,” you laugh. “I’m not stupid.” You leave the implication hanging between you for just a beat. 

Steve waits with bated breath, hanging on to your every word in the way that only a lovestruck drunk can.

“And yeah, she’s going to leave. It sucks. But you know what?” You lean in, deciding to go for broke, since Steve seems receptive. “You’ve got _this moment._ Right now, tonight, you have an opportunity to just _be with your wife_. Take advantage of it, Steve. Use it to the fullest.” You grimace, suddenly reminded of that horrible month without Javi and all of the grief that had come along with it. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“Okay.” Steve’s looking at you wide-eyed, as if he’s never seen you before. 

“You can thank me later,” you tell him with a wink. “Now get the fuck out of here and rescue your woman.” You glance toward Connie, who is starting to look a little desperate. “She needs you.”

Steve takes off without another word, then whirls around, his eyes searching for yours. “Ears,” he says, working his lips like he’s struggling for words, like there’s something else he needs to get off his chest.

You shake your head in exasperation. “Whatever it is, it’ll keep,” you call, shooing him away with your hands.

Finally, with one last strange look, Murphy disappears into the crowd. 

You swig back the rest of the tequila, grateful as fuck that it’s had enough time to be watered down by the melted ice, and set Steve’s empty glass next to yours from earlier. Seeing them together like that digs at something in you, and suddenly, you’re desperate to escape this party, its dim lighting and tasteful music and exclusive conversations. 

You decide to make your way back to the front entrance in search of the bathroom that you’d been hunting down nearly an hour ago. 

The women’s restroom at the U.S. embassy is swanky. It’s clean, large and brightly lit, with expensive marble accents and gold plated mirrors running along the side wall. A small partition sections off the sinks from the toilet stalls. A large fern is nestled in a gleaming black pot in the corner. 

It’s also completely empty.

You take your time here, grateful for the echoing silence, for the coolness of the marble, solid and slick beneath your palms. You take a deep breath and gather your thoughts. The evening’s conversations have left you feeling raw and off-balanced, and you lean heavily against the sink, taking in your reflection, considering what you’ve learned. 

You’re still reeling from your talk with Murphy. It’s far from your first civil interaction with him, but it’s certainly the only time you’d been able to connect so deeply, and you can’t help but draw parallels between his struggles with Connie and yours with Javi.

The thought of Connie draws your concerns back to the surface. Really, your position isn’t all that different from hers. The information that Bill Stechner had so casually dropped had hit you with all the subtly of one of Escobar’s bombs. Sure, you’ve always acknowledged that Javi’s job is dangerous - how could you not, living in Colombia, listening to him talk of chasing armed _sicarios_ across the rooftops of Medellín? But somehow, the risk had always seemed abstract, distant stories to imagine rather than worry about. 

But Los Pepes, that’s a plot twist. Thinking about Javi being caught between swarms of men at gunpoint, hearing the story delivered in hushed tones over a drink from somebody who’d listened to the rumor circulate before you’d even been aware of the problem, does nothing to alleviate your fears. 

In fact, it only seems to drive home the threat.

That same desperation from earlier rises in you, stifling your breaths and pulsing unchecked in your brain, and your own words come rushing back to you.

_“You’ve got this moment.”_

Fuck, you’d said that to Murphy just minutes ago, and you’d meant it, too. How come that same advice hits so differently, when it’s directed at you?

You sigh breathily at your reflection, screwing up your face in a narrow-eyed grimace. There’s nothing like a mirror to show you some ugly truths. 

You decide two things, right there. 

First, if Javi is going to take care of you, then dammit, the least you can do is take care of him in return. There’s nothing you can do about the dangers he faces on the job. That’s out of your control. But if there is a leak in Search Bloc, - and you know deep in your gut that there is - there’s going to be a trail of evidence. Even the wiliest of criminals get sloppy sometimes, and you have major doubts about the professionalism of the idiot who is so overtly sharing classified intel. You’re an analyst. Gathering and interpreting data is literally your job description. 

You’ll sniff them out. It won’t take you long.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, you’re acting on the second promise that you’ve made to yourself, which is this: Make the most of the time you have.

Javi obviously wants you. You definitely want him, and tonight, fuck, _right now,_ you’re going to capitalize on that mutual desire. 

You’re far better at acting than you are at talking, anyway.

With one last determined smirk at your reflection, you exit the bathroom, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on Javi. He’s standing at the center of the room, his weight shifted unevenly to his back foot, one fist pressed to his belt in a way that splays his open suit-jacket behind his elbow and puts the subtle curve of his ass on delicious display. The deep sheen of his dress shirt contrasts perfectly against his skin in the dim light. His hair is slicked back neatly, save for that one errant strand that falls in tantalizing rebellion over his brow.

Suddenly, you are overwhelmed with burning, aching need. 

As you watch from across the room, Javi sets down his drink, reaching up with one hand to loosen his tie for the umpteenth time, and enough is enough. 

You stalk through the crowd, unapologetically dodging bodies without so much as a second glance. You only have eyes for Javier Peña. 

You slide up beside him, brushing your shoulder against his arm and catching his free hand between your fingers. You squeeze ever-so-slightly, and he twitches, reading you instantly like he always does, excusing himself with as much grace as he’s capable of from the conversation. 

“What?”

You don’t bother answering, just tug him deftly through the crowd.

“Baby?” His voice is wary, suspicious as you drag him toward the foyer. 

You cut your eyes around the room, gratified to find that it’s empty, and then, without hesitation, you drag Javier Peña into the women’s bathroom, whirling to meet his lips in a wild, desperate kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never struggled so hard to write anything in my life, ever. Thanks for bearing with me, guys!
> 
> Up next, the smut you've been waiting for!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smut you've been waiting for

Javi hisses as your lips meet his. Your teeth clack together at the force of your assault, and Javi melts into the dark tile wall, allowing you to press your body against him, humming a little into your mouth as you plunder him with your tongue. 

You pull back just a tiny bit as his hands press against your shoulders. “Baby, what the fuck?” Javi asks between kisses. He’s already panting. You can see his chest heaving from multiple angles as the mirrors reflect a series of your tangled bodies down the wall.

Oh, goddamn, that’s nice. 

Javi distracts you from the display at the corner of your eye, taking your face in his hands. “What are we doing in the women’s bathroom?” You can’t tell if he’s amused or annoyed. Probably both.

“What’s it look like?” you ask, turning to press your lips into the hot skin of his palm.

Javi’s fingers twitch, and he looks at you with the promise of a thousand sins glittering dangerously in his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Javi,” you say, arching into him. Javi responds beautifully, tugging you forward so that your bodies crash together. “I’ve been watching you all night,” you gasp as his hips grind against yours. “All dark and moody and… and _brooding.”_

Javi’s breath hitches. “I’m not brooding,” he protests, his voice edged with a rasp that gives away exactly what he’s feeling. 

“Bullshit,” you answer against his mouth, allowing your hands to sweep beneath his suit jacket and skim at the silky material that encases his ribs. 

Javi huffs a stunned little laugh. 

Fair. It’s not often that you just attack him like this, after all. You’ve definitely caught him off guard.

You take his free hand and slam it down on your opposite hip, grinding into him in a way that gives him implicit permission to fondle your ass. You know from how tactile he’s been with your hips and thighs tonight that he really likes the feel of that velvet beneath his fingers, and again, a distant part of you is very, very thankful for Connie and her dress. 

“Fucking love it when you get all possessive, too.” 

“Possessive?” Javi growls. You can tell he’s warming to the situation, because he drops his face to your clavicle and sucks hard at the edge of your throat. “What gives you that idea?”

“The way you look at me,” you answer immediately, biting back a gasp as Javi nips you hard at the hollow of your throat. “I see you watching, Javi, even when you aren’t. And the way you hover, like you’re afraid somebody’s gonna snatch me away if you let me within ten feet of another man.”

“Baby,” Javi glances up. There’s something shocked and maybe a little ashamed in his expression.

And you can’t have that. 

“The way you touch me,” you continue, pouring every bit of your desire and deep affection into your tone. “Christ, Javi, I can feel how much you want me every time we so much as brush shoulders.”

“I -”

You press a thumb to his lips, raise a brow in warning. “If you try to apologize for it, Javier Peña, I’ll fucking bite you, okay?”

“You can bite me anyway,” Javi murmurs under his breath, still looking a little stunned. 

“I’ll bite you hard,” you clarify with a smirk, taking him up on his offer anyway. You arch on your tiptoes to nibble at the underside of his jaw, at the soft edge of his earlobe. 

Javi sucks a little breath, and you feel his cock twitch with interest somewhere near your lower belly.

The soft murmur of voices passes nearby, pausing for just a moment at bathroom entrance, reminding you exactly where you are. Each of you freeze, plastered to one another as if you’ve been paralyzed in position, your heaving breaths intermingling hotly on each other’s faces.

The danger passes, and Javi’s hands curl over your shoulders. His expression is regretful, strained. “We should probably take this somewhere else.”

“Sure,” you grin, refusing to wait another second. Javi’s responded pretty enthusiastically so far, stoking the flames of your lust hotter, so you braid your fingers together and yank with all force you can muster, dragging him into the last open stall and locking the door behind you.

Immediately, you drop to the floor, barely having the presence of mind to shrug out of your jacket and chunk it beneath you. No sense bruising up your knees.

Your fingers inch toward Javi’s belt buckle, but he tugs at your hands, lifting your face upward. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with need, but theres something like concern etched in his expression. 

“Ears, no.” he says softly. His chest is heaving with his breaths, and you’re reminded of a racehorse, eager, raring to go. But Javi’s holding himself back for you.

Again.

Choking back annoyance, you rise, catching your fingers through his hair and tugging his lips to meet yours. Javier Peña has the best lips, plump and soft and deliciously kissable, and you suck deftly at the hollow below the bottom one, drawing it in and releasing it with a wet pop. “Javi, yes,” you breathe into his mouth, and you find that he’s kissing you back, gentle, closed mouth kisses that he refuses to deepen now matter how you tempt him. “Please.” 

“But… are you sure you can?” 

Motherfucker. The idea of Javier Peña doubting you really grinds your gears. On the one hand, yeah, his concern is sweet - you’ve only just been released from a week in the hospital. A good blow job is definitely a workout even for healthy lungs. Javi knows this just like you do. 

On the other hand, goddammit, of course you’re sure, and fuck him for even questioning you.

“Can I?” you growl, nipping hard at his chin with your teeth in subtle retribution. “Of fucking course I can, Peña.”

You reach for his tie, loosening the silk that’s knotted at his throat, and you feel him catch a breath. 

It only spurs you on. “I’ve seen you tugging at this,” you confess, meeting his eyes darkly. “You’ve been uncomfortable all night. Gonna take care of it.”

Javi swallows hard as you rip the tie from his neck with a soft slap. You throw it halfheartedly around your neck, wearing it like a scarf. “Gonna take care of you, baby,” you tell him, trailing teasing fingers down the buttons of his shirt. “Like you take care of me.”

“Ears.” Javi is still worried. 

“Goddammit, Javi,” you growl. “I’m not going to fucking break.” You reach for his cheek with one hand, forcing him to meet your eyes. The other reaches down to paw at his crotch. His erection is straining against the tight material of his trousers, jutting eagerly into your palm.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” you breathe, squeezing him gently through his slacks. “Tell me you don’t want my mouth, my lips and tongue all over you. Tell me you don’t want me to suck you within an inch of your life, Peña.”

Javi’s hips twitch imperceptibly forward. His gaze is burning. One hand comes up to grip tightly at your hair.

You rise to your tiptoes in a hopeless attempt at eye level. “If you can look me in the eyes and say that, I’ll stop,” you promise him, taking the dark look you get in return as consent to undo the buttons at his throat. Javi hates buttons anyway. “Swear. I’ll button you up and we’ll walk out of here like nothing ever happened, and you can go back to making polite conversation with Crawford or whatever the hell his name is.”

Javi’s nostrils flare with his breaths. He looks aroused. He looks pissed. 

God, it’s hot.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll even tie up this tie for you.” You slap his chest with it for emphasis.

That last little threat seems to work. Javi’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back to rest against the dark plastic stall door. “Don’t stop,” he murmurs. His hand relaxes its grip at your hair. 

“Thought so,” you smirk, pressing a brief kiss to the strip of clavicle that your efforts against his buttons have exposed. You let your fingers graze down his torso, lingering lightly at his belly. 

Javi flinches a little at that, rocking back against the stall, and you remember that he’s ticklish.

“Hold still, baby,” you admonish, gently untucking his shirt from his trousers and undoing each button from the hem up with aching slowness. “I need access to all of you for this.” Inch by delicious inch, you expose his stomach, his torso, his ribs, his chest. You explore each part of him in turn, skimming hot, tan skin first with the pads of your fingers, then your palms.

Javi shudders beneath your touch. 

You’re back on your toes now, pushing his suit jacket over his shoulders. It falls to the floor gracelessly, and you take a moment to lean back, your thumbs working little circles into the hollows of Javi’s exposed hips. You take him in for a moment, reveling in the the sharp planes of his body that soften ever so subtly at his middle, his long neck, tendons exposed beautifully as he arches his head back against the bathroom stall, the splash of dark lashes against his tanned cheeks, that ever-present dip between his brows that just begs to be smoothed away by your lips. 

God, he’s fucking beautiful like this, eager and exposed, just waiting for your touch, anticipation and pent up need damned near thrumming beneath his skin. 

And you haven’t even done anything yet. 

“Jesus Christ, Javi, you’re gorgeous.” He huffs a sarcastic little breath at that, and you decide that Javi hasn’t heard enough compliments in his life, if he reacts with such derision to them. 

It’s a damn shame. 

You slide to the floor, dragging your palms down Javi’s thighs as you go. When you settle on your knees, you lean in, gripping his ass tightly and burying your face in his crotch, nuzzling at his throbbing erection with your nose and cheek, inhaling the scent of him. 

Javi chokes a tiny little gasp. Long fingers come to entwine through your curls. “Babe,” he rasps hoarsely. 

“Look at you.” You breathe your appreciation hotly over Javi’s cock, reveling in how it twitches at your words. You unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, and Javi’s hips twitch as your fingers graze against his fly. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peña,” you remind him sweetly. Despite your own motivation, you can’t help but take the opportunity to tease. “And anticipation is everything.” 

You glance up, and oh, shit. Javier Peña is glaring down like he could fucking eat you, and you just know that you’ll be paying for that comment later. 

Good. Impatient desire flares in your core, and you tamp it down, channeling it into the moment. You unzip his fly inch by fucking inch, tugging his trousers over his ass carefully, slowly. 

Javi’s cock springs free, greedy and insistent as it bobs pointedly in your face.

You catch it gently in your hands, dipping in to drop a ghost of a kiss against the velvet soft skin of its head.

Javi sucks in a sharp breath as your lips brush against him.

Wasting no more time, you tilt him up, licking one long swipe from his base to his tip, following the fat, throbbing vein that dips gently beneath your tongue. You curl forward, brushing at his slit, reveling in the tiny, salty dribble of precum that’s gathered there. 

Jesus Christ, he’s already leaking for you. 

You hum a little under your breath, and Javi twitches, nudging a little at your teeth.

You pull away, spitting as much as you can generate into your hands, rubbing them slick before you grip Javi’s shaft greedily. His eyes roll back in his head at your touch, and you slide carefully back and forth at his base, peppering tiny kisses at his tip, nuzzling him with your cheeks and nose. You reach up with your opposite hand to fondle his balls, catching them gently in your palm, testing the weight of them, squeezing gently.

Javi responds with a sharp hiss.

Emboldened, you take his head in your mouth, sucking and swirling the flat of your tongue around his edges. Javi hardens just a tiny bit, the change imperceptible if he hadn’t been encased tightly between your lips. 

God, you need him. You decide to tell him so.

Long fingers weave through your hair as you speak, and you glance up to find Javi watching you. He’s glassy eyed, awestruck.

“I want you to look at me while I do this, baby,” you say against him. Javi flinches a bit at your words, but his eyes stay locked to you, soft and glossy in rapt attention.

His gaze is a weight against your skin, teasing you, spurring you on. “I don’t do this for just anybody,” you confess, reaching up to grapple his ass. You clutch hard, and Javi jerks, his cock nudging your nose insistently. “Drop to my knees on a dirty bathroom floor.”

Well, to be fair, it’s really not all that dirty.

You bite back a smile, choosing instead to keep your gaze locked on those dark, lust-addled eyes. Javi pants down at you, open-mouthed, enraptured.

“I’m yours, Javier Peña,” you tell him with all of the sincerity you can muster. Javi’s entire body shudders as you speak, and you tilt your head to press a gentle kiss at the edge of his shaft. “Only yours. We clear?”

Javi nods jerkily, looking a bit like a bobblehead doll on the dashboard of a car. “Yeah,” he answers hoarsely.

“Good,” you murmur, taking him into your mouth in earnest now. He stretches you deliciously, slipping past your lips to butt insistently at the back of your throat, and you take the base of him in both hands, twisting gently as you squeeze, wringing his desire from him with careful pulses of your fingers. 

You bob against him, sucking as deeply as you can, pausing sometimes to stroke him base to tip and back again with your fingers as you breathe deeply, licking at his sides and the underbelly of his cock while you gather your breath. Your busted lungs might be a setback, sure, but you won’t let them get in the way of offering Javier Peña everything you can give.

He deserves it all, and more.

The strap of Connie’s dress is slipping down your shoulder - she’s a lot more built than you - and Javi reaches down to run his finger along the edge of your clavicle, like he just can’t help but brush your bare skin.

His gentle touch sends little electric sparks zinging down your body, gathering thick and heavy in your core, and you reach up to fondle his balls again, knowing better than to neglect them. You keep one slick hand working at the base of his shaft as you arch your back beneath him, craning up to gently suck one heavy testicle into your mouth. You roll it carefully between your tongue and lips, pressing softly, working the skin of his scrotum gently between your lips as your thumb strokes up the underside of his cock and comes to graze against his slit.

Javi comes unglued. 

“This is all for you, baby,” you mumble into his skin. You release him from your mouth with one last flick of your tongue, leaning back on your fists to look him in the eyes. “I -”

Footsteps clack, clack, clack against the tile floor, and you freeze, glancing a warning up at Javi. The timing could not have been more perfect. Javi’s damn near to blowing his load in your face, draped up against the stall with his eyes closed, chugging ragged, panting breaths that pulse throughout his entire body, his balls drawn up tightly. 

Good. 

You ease off of your fists just as the unsuspecting intruder enters the bathroom. The mystery woman pauses at the mirror, just steps from you, and you take the opportunity to shift your position - god, your knees are getting old - rising up to suck at the base of Javi’s cock. You stretch, your legs stinging as circulation returns to them. You ignore the sensation, focusing on pressing a series of little open-mouthed kisses along Javi’s downy happy trail, reaching up with spread fingers, pressing a warm palm to each of Javi’s hips. Your hands dance against his skin as you splay the pads of your fingers against his belly.

Javi shudders, grabbing your wandering hands and threading your fingers together. You squeeze him, still preoccupied with chasing that happy trail to where it disappears into the soft thatch of hair at the base of his cock, when Javi tugs on your hand. Frustrated at the interruption, you glare up at him, only to be met with an expression that knocks the air from your lungs. 

Javi’s looking at you, fierce and somewhat awe-struck, you can see him taking those deep, steadying breaths like he’s doing his damnedest to keep quiet, or maybe his damnedest to keep from exploding in your face.

Affection and need crash over you, and you pull away, leaning back on your heels, just staring at him in wonder.

He really is gorgeous.

Javi tugs at you again, almost desperately, and you rise to meet him, allowing his lips to crash into yours. Javi plunders your mouth with his tongue, treading his fingers through your hair with one hand, reaching down to clench your ass with the other. A low, guttural sound escapes from deep within his throat.

Fuck. 

You freeze and Javi mimics the motion, each of you listening for any sound to break the silence.

What the hell is that woman doing in here, anyway?

Annoyed, you glance at the floor. Your jacket and Javi’s mingle haphazardly at your feet, the sleeves spilling from beneath the safety of the stall doors. 

If your mystery lady just happens to glance behind her, she’ll see, and she’ll know.

Goddamn, that’s kind of hot. You grin deviously at Javi, who’s still wearing that deer in the headlights expression.

Okay, maybe he isn’t enjoying the threat of exposure quite as much as you are, you little freak.

Nearby, water runs from the sink, and you relax a bit, noticing for the first time the speed of your heart as your pulse rushes in your ears. 

“Babe-”

You plant one spit-slick finger against Javi’s swollen lips with a pointed glare. Again, your breaths mingle, hot and loud in the echoing silence of the bathroom. 

Javi’s eyes flutter shut, his head thudding softly against the cheap plastic stall, the sound impossibly loud against the echoing silence of the bathroom. 

You grip him with your free hand, squeezing softly against the base of his pulsing cock, reminding him of your situation.

Javi whines.

Well, fuck. You don’t actually _want_ to get caught, so you lean in close, hissing just a breath of a whisper into his ear. “Hush, Peña, or I’ll gag you with your fucking tie.” You nip his earlobe for good measure. 

Javi’s eyes glitter darkly at you, his nostrils flared like he’s just daring you to fucking try it, but he shuts his mouth and falls still.

Emboldened by the thought of having Javier Peña hogtied and at your mercy, you gather his listless hands in yours, pinning them in a way that forces you to press your entire body against his. He’s so much taller than you that it almost doesn’t happen. It’s damn near sinful, how you have to arch into him, grind you body against his just to catch his wrists behind his head. You’re on your tiptoes, pressed together, hip to hip, chest to chest, mouth to mouth.

Javi shudders at the contact, pinning you with a glassy-eyed stare. “Ears,” he whispers brokenly. You can’t tell if he’s warning you or begging you. His eyes are wide and wild, his mouth fallen open in a way that tempts your to kiss him quiet. 

“Shh,” you hiss, leaning in to silence those loud, fat lips with your own.

You kiss like that for a long, long time, a distant, half-aware part of your brain listening for the water to shut off as you plunder Javi’s mouth with your lips and tongue and teeth, muffling his breathy sighs, sucking them in to your mouth.

Those sounds belong to you, and you only. 

Finally, fucking finally, you hear the glorious sound of retreating footsteps. Javi relaxes a bit, and you take the opportunity to gather his hair in your hands and tug, exposing his bare neck for you to mark as yours. You suck and nip and sigh into his warmth, reveling how he glides between your teeth, imagining the splotched red bruises that you’re splaying into his skin.

“Mine, mine, mine.” You’re not sure if you’re thinking it or whispering it, but either way, Javi responds beautifully to your claim, writhing beneath your ministrations like a drowning man struggles to surface for air.

“Baby,” he chokes, and you fall once again to the floor to nuzzle against his throbbing cock. Javi sucks a sharp breath as you nudge at him, his cock just as hard, just as leaking and insistent as it had been before.

You sheathe your teeth, licking your lips and taking him in your mouth in one long, fluid motion.

Javi keens at your touch, his hips surging forward in an aborted little pulse that sends a shockwave of desire racing to your core.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” you hum against Javi’s tip, and he twitches, a barely perceptible pulse as the vibration of your voice thrums through his body. His thighs are trembling, and you can tell that he’s straining to hold still.

“You wanna fuck my mouth?” you ask impishly, your words slurred against his length. You’ve never offered this to any other man, but you trust Javi, and watching him come unglued in a bathroom stall with his cock at your lips is making you feel like you could give him absolutely anything and fucking love it. 

You take him in deep, sucking hard, gripping with all of the strength available to your lips as you draw away. “Huh, Javi? Is that what you want?”

“No.” Javi’s hand clenches painfully around your bare shoulder. It’s a wonder, as far gone as he is, that he still has the capacity to be worried for you. 

“I think you do,” you tease ferociously. That aborted little hip twitch gives him away. “I know you do.”

“Baby.” Javi’s eyes are wide, his pupils blown with desire as he stares down at you, begging you to deny him. 

You won’t, not when he’s looking at you like this, half-wild with want, trembling and undone. Again, you draw him into your mouth in one fluid motion, your tongue swiping around the base of him as you pull back.

“Oh, fuck, Ears.” Javi’s voice is wrecked, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his head tipped skyward against the wall.

“That’s the idea, Peña,” you say as you take him into your mouth. You clench your hands tightly around his thighs, and he eases into you slowly, past your tongue until he’s butted up against the back of your throat. Your breaths are stifled by the weight of him. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you think for a minute that you might gag, but then he’s pushing even deeper into you, stretching your to the point that it’s almost painful. You body rebels against the contact. Your throat contracts, those gathered tears leaking softly down your cheeks, and you exhale a deep breath from your nose, willing your clenched muscles to relax. 

“Baby?” Javi’s voice is choked and guttural. You can feel him trembling with the effort of keeping still.

Saliva dribbles at the edge of your mouth, but your muscles have calmed some, acclimated to the stretch of him at the entrance of your throat. You wrap your tongue around his base, beckoning him forward with soft, swift strokes.

Javi sucks a sharp breath. His thighs shake, but he doesn’t move.

Eager to get things moving, you slap his bare ass hard enough to set the skin of your palm stinging. Javi surges forward, his cock angling past the back of your mouth to slide deeper into your throat, moving on on pure, wanton impulse. 

You open for him, straining brutally past age-old instincts that urge you to clench, to gag, to reject, relaxing instead of choking, submitting instead of panicking. Once Javi’s tip rounds the corner at the back of your throat, things are easier, and you release the violent tension gathered in your muscles with a series of sharp, hot breaths against his shaft. 

Javi slows a little, and you grip tightly at his hips, guiding him to a pace that you can handle. He pushes into you, tiny, sharp pulses that punch the air from your lungs and send saliva pooling at the edge of your mouth, and for a moment, you feel like you’re choking. You push past it, a wild, distant part of your brain reveling in the pure power that you’re holding over the moment. There’s nothing on earth like being down on your knees for this man, watching him stretch you to your very limits as you pump forward against him, driving him deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s a heady, violent feeling, the complete control that you’re commanding over Javier Peña in this moment, and you feel that familiar pressure balling up tightly in your core, spurred on with each tiny thrust at the back of your throat.

Javi’s hands are winding through your hair, one resting on your bare shoulder like he just can’t help but stroke you there. You reach up and thread your fingers through his, and he rests your clasped hands at the top of your head in a gesture that is surprisingly sweet amidst the savagery of the moment. 

It’s a race against time, between you and him. Javi’s close, you can tell by the way he’s writhing a little against your chin, his thrusts turning to jagged little pulses that shake the bathroom stall. But your lungs are on fire, busted as they are from the bomb, and it’s not long before you’re forced to open before you’re ready. Gasping, you manage to avoid pulling away, sucking down cool, delicious air around Javi’s cock with panting, thready breaths. Javi moans at the loss of contact, and you clamp back around him, encasing him again in the wet heat of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

“Mmhmm,” you mumble around him.

Javi’s only response is a deep, guttural groan.

You set up that same bruising pace again, your nails digging tiny half moons into the flesh of Javi’s ass as you guide him onward. This time, you remember to breathe, and each time you do, Javi’s free hand comes to brush gentle fingers at your face, your jaw, your throat, like he’s wanting to feel your tendons moving, feel himself inside you.

Heat pools in your belly, saliva drips down your chin, tears leak from your eyes. Javi is massive in your mouth, stretching you to capacity that should really break you open as he hammers into you. It’s a full body penetration like you’ve never experienced before, and you wonder abruptly if you can orgasm from this alone. You hum against him, once again opening your mouth to breathe, and he hisses at the sensation, slamming back against the bathroom stall with a force that rattles the lock ominously.

Then he’s tapping urgently at your shoulder, gripping your hair. Warning you.

“Babe-”

Moving quickly, you lock your lips around Javi’s base, swiping a knuckle against your slippery jaw and reaching up to dig it gently into the hollow behind his balls. It’s not as good as anal penetration, but in your current position, it’s the best you can do.

Javi comes with a choked gasp. You can feel the power of his orgasm thrusting and pulsing around your clamped lips, and your core clenches in eager retaliation. Rope after rope of cum spurts hot and sticky down your throat. 

Slowly, you pull back, tonging gently to ride him through it until you’re nuzzling sloppily at his tip. You lick and kiss and suck as finally the waves slow to a stop, being deliberately messy with it. Cum and saliva mix on your face, dribble thickly down your lips and chin. 

Javi flops his head back against the stall, his eyes fluttered shut. His knees buckle and he sways, like he can hardly hold himself up. Sweat glistens on his forehead and his chest, and you think he’s gorgeous like that, all weak and fucked up for you. 

Slowly, you shift to the balls of your feet, grateful for the umpteenth time that you’re in chucks and not heels. Small mercies - your knees are going to be sore for days. Your jaw, too.

You decide you don’t mind.

“Baby,” Javi is reaching for you blindly, fingers skimming past your forehead to grip gently at your hair. 

“Shh,” you hush him softly, and when you look up at him, his cum glistening all over your lips, he shudders like his legs are going to give out beneath him.

Gorgeous man.

You lick your lips slowly, savoring the salty tang of him, then move forward, pressing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to his inner thighs and his belly and hips, swirling your tongue there, nibbling just a tiny bit here. You take his softening cock gently in your hand - Javi twitches at your touch, sensitive as it is, kissing the tip before you tuck him carefully back into his trousers. 

Javi sucks in a sharp hiss at that. One hand falls to rest again at the crown of your head.

You zip him back up, careful to avoid pinching skin, and when you’re done, Javi hauls you to your feet, apparently having recovered enough to do so. “Baby,” he says again, stumbling on the word as he sees his own seed dripping from your chin. 

You look him hard in the eye, then, very deliberately, you swipe your tongue over your bottom lip, licking him away with a soft smack.

Javi’s eyes widen, and he pulls you into a deep kiss, licking and sucking and moaning a little into your mouth as he tastes himself on your tongue. 

“You,” he breathes accusatory into your mouth. “You. Mmm. Fuck.”

“Me,” you answer back cheekily, swiping away the last of him from your chin.

Javi’s hands reach up to gently cup your aching jaw. He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, carefully thumbing away the last of the tears that are tracking down your cheeks. His gaze is glossy, nearly feverish. 

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps, voice still thready and breathless from his orgasm.

“Say what?” you ask, pressing closer into his chest. He wraps his arms around you tightly, and the heat of his skin against your exposed shoulders is enough to stoke the embers of flame at your core. 

“What you said earlier,” Javi whispers into your hair, still reluctant to let you go. You make note of this, that Javier Peña is downright clingy after a good orgasm. It’s adorable. “About-”

“That I’m yours?” you ask, remembering now how he’d reacted both times you’d said it.

“Yeah.”

A rush of deep emotion for this man floods you, and you think for a moment that you might get a little choked up. “Javi, baby.” You cradle his face in your hands, winding your fingers behind his neck and tugging him down to look you in the eye. “I meant what I said to Connie today. Do you remember?”

Javi’s eyes flutter shut for just a breath of a second, and he nods against your palm.

You reach up on your toes to kiss his cheeks, each side, then his nose. He huffs a little, his lips curling into a tiny smile, and when he opens his eyes again, you look at him as seriously as you’ve ever looked at him. “I’m yours, Javi.” You take his fingers and braid them with yours, leaning in so that your clasped hands are pressed between your chests. “Only yours.”

Javi hums a little, and you lean in for a gentle kiss. “You like that, huh?” 

“I really, really do,” Javi confesses, dropping his sweaty forehead to nuzzle into the crook of your neck.

You can’t help a wide grin. You’d really underestimated Javier Peña’s level of possessiveness, and actually, that’s totally fine with you.

“Good,” you say, reaching down to pinch playfully at his bare ass. Javi flinches a little, and you laugh, wondering for the first time if he might be a little ticklish there, too. “Because it’s true. I’m yours and yours only, baby.” You lift an eyebrow, and Javi stills, waiting to hear what you have to say. “Javier Peña’s bitch.”

This startles a little laugh out of him. Javi pulls away to look at you, teeth flashing beneath his dark mustache, eyes crinkled at the edges, and something warm curls in your belly.

“But if you ever address me that way, Peña, I can’t be held accountable for my response.” You tap him on the chest for emphasis, feeling it’s only fair to warn him.

Javi arches a brow. “I wouldn’t dare, Ears,” he insists, lifting his hands in the universal sign for ‘yeah, fuck that.’ “I want to live to see Escobar taken down, you know.”

Again, you kiss him on the lips. “Good man.”

Javi stares down at you, all soft, post-coital contentment, but his gaze burns, and you tremble under the weight of his full attention, anticipation and desire coiling thickly in your belly as you read the intent in his expression.

“I think we’re done here, yeah?” he asks softly, the smug glint in his eyes promising you a very long night.

“Yeah,” you answer hoarsely. Goddamn, the way this man looks at you. “Fuck, yeah.”

“Good.” There’s something darkly amused about the way Javi’s grinning at you. 

“What?”

Carefully, deliberately, Javi licks his thumb and swipes it beneath your eye. “You’ve got something on your face, babe.” 

You snort. All of that makeup you’d forgotten about. “I’m a hot mess, huh?” 

“My hot mess,” Javi murmurs, frowning down at you. He’s working on cleaning you up now in earnest, rubbing at your mascara tracks with a force that tugs at your skin. “Goddamn, what is this stuff made of?”

“Fuck if I know,” you answer, batting him away. “Come on, this is gonna need a mirror.”

“Or a miracle,” Javi mutters as he reaches for his jacket.


End file.
